Stained Glass and Silver Moonlight
by Dysart
Summary: A story about the Grey Warden Saetta, a female elven magi, and some of the men around her: Cullen, Greagoir, Zevran in future chapters . Rated M for sexual content.
1. Cullen

**Stained Glass and Silver moonlight**

**This story is about the Grey Warden, in this case a female elf magi. It is a little bit about Cullen, Greagoir and Zevran, too, respectively about the love affairs to the Grey Warden. Unfortunately (or not, haha) English is not my mother-tongue. I hope you all will understand it, anyway :).**

Her blonde hair was cut short, only a few inches of the light-colored silk caressed her head, which carried bright green eyes and passionate lips. Sometimes, indeed not very often, she showed an amused smirk on her lips and she has never spoken a word too much. Maybe her silent, yet self-determined nature was the reason why he liked her to a degree, which was not far away from being forbidden. Perhaps it was already.

Saetta studied hard and with great success. Her mentors liked her and even the First Enchanter Irving always spoke highly of her. Cullen knew that Knight-Commander Greagoir did not agree with this – Cullen guessed, Greagoir could hardly believe that an intelligent mind was not carrying a sinister side -, but she was not a troublemaker and so even the highest templar in the circle was not able to harm her.

Since Cullen had been relocated from patrolling the laboratories to guarding the apprentice' dormitories, he was able to watch her not only two times a week but two times a day, sometimes even more often. He tried, while watching her and a group of other apprentices talking on the corridor, to recall why, of all the other students around him, he admired the young elven mage so deeply. Except the formal greetings, he has never spoken a word with her, yet he was not able to stop thinking about her. And her slender figure, the gentle elven features. He wanted to touch her exposed neck, laced with light, smooth skin, but of course that was never going to happen.

The group of apprentices dissolved in smaller groups of two or three people. Saetta stayed a few moments longer, talking with a raven-haired young man named Jowan – Cullen did not like him due to obvious reasons: Sometimes, Saetta smiled at her companion, and even though it was always rather amused than warm or even lovely, Cullen envied the mage. A strong friendship has bound the two together since infancy, and the templar would be only too pleased to take Jowans part in this bond.

„Please go ahead, Jowan. I'll need a minute to arrange my notes", she said in her calm and pleasant voice and her friend followed her demand. Within a few seconds the whole corridor was deserted, except for Cullen and the young elven mage. He did not enjoy this, due to the fact, that it was too obvious now to focus only on her. While watching the entrances to the corridor, he had not noticed her slowly approach and winced nearly impalpable at the sound of her voice.

"I beg your pardon, Ser Cullen", Saetta said, looking at him with a lightly raised head. The smile had vanished from her face, now her expression has changed to a more serious one.

"Ah – yes, apprentice, what is your concern?", he replied, straightening himself.

"Did I do something wrong?", she asked to his great astonishment. "I noticed you, that you are glancing at me several times, Ser Cullen, and I thought there may be a reason."

"Do you want to tell me a misconduct, Saetta?", he hastily replied, turning the accusation against her, away from him.

At this she laughed amused and even a little sarcastic and his heart felt heavy in his armored chest.

"It's funny, in a strange way, how you templars always twist words. No, Ser Cullen, there is nothing I have to report. I beg your pardon if my question has made you uncomfortable", she said in her soft, calm voice. She managed a slight curtsey and then left, heading for the stairs to the laboratories.

Cullen felt a strong urge to hide himself in the nearest niche and he was relieved to know that most of the apprentices were studying in the classrooms and laboratories at this moment. So no one would see the red flush on his cheeks and the ashamed expression on his face.


	2. Cullen II

Months later:

Cullen awoke in the deepest part of a stormy and cold autumn-night. At first he thought the loud crackling noises, produced by the window shutters, had left him wide awake in his bed, but after a few heartbeats the memory of a more and more vivid growing dream came into his mind.

He had dreamed of her. Soft fingertips caressing his cheeks, the palms of his hands, his belly – he gasped, when the memory of her hand, stroking down the small path of light-colored hair beneath his navel, slid into his mind. He sensed the glowing throbbing of his arousal between his thighs.

_I am lost_, he thought, as he straightened in his bed, trying to ignore his erection and the memories of her warm and willing mouth against his own.

Cullen knew that some of the templars masturbated alone in their chambers. Even though all of them were feeling a deep love to the Maker and Andraste and they know their duty, watching over all those female mages – and some of them were indeed really pretty ones – stimulated their imagination. Cullen had heard of two or three templars, which had an affair with a mage, but those had been short ones, because the risk of being caught by Knight-Commander Greagoir was too high. No one would risk a living in shame and abandonment for some nights not spent alone.

But to the young templar himself those things like masturbating, let alone sleeping with one of the mages, could not be consistent with his religious love and his duty. Before Saetta had caught his both admiring and desiring attention, he had lived without strong sexual feelings. He wanted to be a good templar, not a weak one. And now he had to fight the urge to let himself fall into the sweet oblivion only the thoughts of her pale neck and his hand in his crotch could bestow.

Instead he got up and dressed in a plain, long tunic, only ornated with the small red sword on the chest and a long, crimson band around his waist, before leaving his chamber, which was filled with passionate and forbidden feelings. He needed to be in a room, which would make him calm and collected again, like the templar he was before Saetta had changed his life.

His feet led him down the corridors and stairways. He greeted the few patrolling templars and went to the hall with the small shrine of Andraste in it. A purifying prayer was all he needed at this moment; maybe the sight of the sweet face of the Maker's wife would turn his arousal in a more proper feeling.

To reach the shrine he had to go through the common room of the mages. Usually they sat on the benches and armchairs, reading, talking or listening to the elder's stories. In the night, though, after curfew, the room was deserted and no light but the moon's illuminated the furniture.

After he had closed the heavy wooden door behind his back, he heard a sudden gasp, surprised or even shocked, and a slender silhouette straightened in one of the windowniches.

"Ser Cullen?" The sound of _her _voice left him thunderstrucked. One moment he felt dazzled, thinking she was just an imagination of his tired mind – had to be only a splitter of his dream -, before the sight of her in the moonlight, silver glowing hair and her fingers, clenched into the blue linen of her nightrobe above her chest, told him how real she was.

Her green eyes were showing no fear, no, she was not afraid of being caught after curfew, she seemed rather to be vexed, that she had been taken by surprise.

"W-What are you doing in here? It's way after curfew!", he said, after regaining a steady mind. _Oh, how beautiful she is_, he thought, unable to turn his eyes from her slender, starlight-embraced figure.

"I couldn't sleep", she answered, still focusing him with calm and somewhat chilly eyes. After a second of hesitation, she added: "You're going to report me, aren't you? I won't resist, Ser Cullen. Even if -" She hesitated and stepped from her upper position to the cold stone floor. Her feet were naked, her step made the sound of a waterdrop, dripping from the petal of a blooming flower. "Even if I'd like you to do otherwise."

And then she went silent, just looking at him with this expression on her face he could not read. He wanted to leave and tell her she would be fine, that no word of her presence here would slip through his lips. But just looking at her made him remember the dream, he had about her.

In which he _had_ her.

He wanted to be a good templar, he had to report her, even though every corner of his body told him with searing pain that she would be nice to him, if he did not report her. Cullen did not wanted a kiss, this option of her "being nice" to him did not come into his mind. Just a few more smiles, she might give him more frequently if he let her go, would make him happy.

In his silence, she approached him with unhearable steps, and her slender fingers reached out and touched his wrist.

"It's the only place in the Circle from where I can see the lake through the stained glass", she said and her voice was low and soft, as if she had seen the flickering of his unsteadiness on his face and wanted to guide him to the light, to the right choice to make.

"Do you would like to see it, Ser Cullen? It's beautiful in this time of the year, when the wind and the rain churn up the lake." Her fingers slid deeper and into his palm. She embraced his cold hand with her warm fingertips, and a feeling arose in his chest he had never felt before. It was both fear and delight, mixed into a treacherous emotion, which was upsetting and too wonderful to even speak, let alone think about it.

The want to kiss her was intense, as her sweet and warm scent wafted into his nose. Cullen looked down to the smaller elf, she smiled at him; a light and tender smile. He wanted to kiss her, he leant forward a bit, the scent grew stronger, but then he could not do it.

Instead of pressing his eager lips to her soft and, at least in his imagination, willing mouth, he took the wrist of her hand, which had lain in his own hand for a few seconds – he could still feel her warmth and the silk of her skin –, before he dragged her out of the chantry.

"I am going to report you, apprentice!", he said too loud, as if he had to convice himself, as if he wanted to intimidate her to not try something on him again. "Knight-Commander Greagoir will know about your misconduct!"

She did not resist, instead she wandered next to him, nearly towed by his tight grip around her small wrist, barefooted and freezing in her thin cotton-robe, but not saying any word.


	3. Greagoir

Knight-Commander Greagoir did not sleep well this night. The storms around the tower, which stood forlorn and vulnerable in the middle of the lake, had kept him awake a lot of nights, since he had joined the Circle as a templar uncountable years earlier. He did not need much sleep, either, and so he had kept himself busy all these nights.

When he heard steps approaching his office, he sat down behind his desk and waited. He had read sitting in an armchair before, but respect is a valuable and easy to lose thing, and he had not wanted to be seen by one of the men inferior to him sitting like a grand-father, reading fairy-tales to his children.

Children, he had never had.

Children, which he had not missed in all these years, not even in lonely nights like these.

Templar Cullen stepped into his office, after he had knocked cautious on the wooden door and Greagoir told him to get in. He was followed by a young apprentice, Saetta Amell, and Greagoir stiffened a little by the miserable look of her freezing body.

"Knight-Commander", Cullen said and Greagoir noticed that his voice was trembling. Again he gave Saetta a short gaze, but she avoided any eye-contact, looked a Cullen's back instead. "Ser, I have to report the misconduct of the apprentice Saetta -" he stopped and cleared his throat "- Saetta Amell, Ser. She was in the chantry, way after curfew, when I found her."

Greagoir just nodded, before he stood up and raised his hand, indicated on a door, that led into an adjoining room. "Apprentice Amell, I'd like you to leave Ser Cullen and me alone. Make yourself comfortable." Saetta's nod was nearly unpalpable. Cullen's gaze followed her, when she left the room, before he looked back to Greagoir, who was leaning with both hands on the cold plate of his desk.

"Cullen, you are not on duty tonight, if I remember correctly", he said and then listened to the templar's story.

Saetta sat on an armchair in front of the hearth and warmed her naked feet and her bare hands on the open fire. Apparently, she had fed the fire, when he had been away speaking with Cullen, and it was steaming hot in the small room, which only contained Greagoir's few personal belongings, a plain commode with his clothes in it and a small bed, which he did not use, because he usually slept in another, greater bedroom next to his office. This room he only used for guests, which were rare, but a servant maid always kept the floor clean and the bed freshly made.

"I couldn't sleep, either", he said, slowly approaching her. Her body had stopped trembling, but she would not make eye-contact with him. Quietly, he spoke her name and she shivered.

"Don't mind Cullen. He is a good templar, even though he is a little too eager. To drag you all the stairs up to my room, barefooted and barely dressed …" Sattea interrupted him harshly. "He treated me like a dog! He -"

"He said, you tried to seduce him."

Her head jerked higher, and now she faced him, with her blue eyes and her lips, partly open. She did not reply anything, instead she looked into his face, as though she could read his expression as easily as he could read hers.

"Do you really think, I believe this, Sattea?" She sighed audibly. "I don't know, what you have done to him, dear, but I don't believe that you are so stupid and fall in love with a man like him."

He had barely finished, when she got up from the chair, nearly fell over the hem of her night-robe, and slung her thin arms around his neck, kissed him. Her kiss was eager, soft and willing, full of lust and the hunger of a woman, who had tasted a forbidden fruit and got addicted to it.

"I missed this", she whispered in his ear only half an hour later, lying on the small bed with fresh sheets, smelling of soap and lavender. She was completely naked, her thighs glistened with his saliva like morning dew, when he entered her, and they both moaned in perfect unison.


	4. Greagoir II

**Here I am again :)**

**It had been a while; unfortunalety I was stuck in some exam-stuff from university. Uff!**

**It's not a awfully long chapter, but I hope, you will enjoy it nonetheless!**

It had all started months ago, in a mild summer-night.

Twice every year Knight-Commander Greagoir summoned one of the elder apprentices to his office, were he had them to handle some of his correspondence, arranging and updating his files. It lasted one month and most of the apprentices were glad, when it was finally over. Greagoir would sit and watch over the whole process, every evening after they finished their scholar-duties, and to have someone like the Knight-Commander an entire month behind your back was pretty uncomfortable.

In this semestre, Saetta was the one to aid Greagoir in his office-duties. She did not like it, but stubbornness was nothing one could show to the templars, and especially not this one. Two hours she had already sat on the small writing desk, her fingertips blue from the ink and her thighs covered in spilled sand, she had used to let the wet words on the paper dry without smearing.

It was warm in his office. Saetta needed a lot of candles to light the letters and other texts, which did not help to decrease the heat in the small room. Greagoir had put off his heavy armor shortly after Saetta had taken her seat. She had heard the rustling and clattering from the adjoining room, which was his bedroom, she guessed. It was odd to see him just dressed in a neatly ironed and stainless, immaculate white and red raiment, yet, he was no lesser an impressive sight than before. Greagoir was the kind of man Saetta had not seen often before. A man, who was with a certain aura of dominance and authority. Someone, one should obey and pay respect, and may it be just out of fear.

Saetta had no elaborate opinion of Greagoir. She had scarcely seen him in all the years she had spent in the Circle. Maybe twice or once a year he would gather all the templars and magi in the common room to announce a change in the daily routine, the promotion to a Senior Enchanter of one of the magi, or to lecture on the danger of bloodmagic and the nonsense of trying to take flight out of the tower. Most of the magi found the templars odious, but Saetta had never gained experience with them which would cause such strong feelings. It was annoying, though, that each magi was constantly suspected of plotting against the Chantry or devoting one's soul to sinister spirits.

"There are only two seasons good for living in rooms this high", Greagoir said, disrupting her thoughts on the tense relationship between templar and magi. She looked up from the letter she was reading and saw a faint smile on his lips.

"In winter it's way too cold, and the summer-heat is never leaving my chambers, not even after nightfall."

She replied with politely smiling and then continued her tasks. But yet, there he was standing one metre next to her and she could feel a tickling on her profile from his gaze.

"Do you mind if I open the windows, apprentice?"

"If it pleases you, Knight-Commander."

Saetta knew her courtesies and, infact, she did not mind at all. It was warm in the small room, and the magi were forced to wear long linen robes even in the summer. She had never known the purpose of this, but yet she obliged, at least when the templars were in sight.

Jowan had once said to her that he thought about this whole clothing-debate. "Maybe", he had said and there was this amused and conspirational smile he so often showed on his lips again, "the blood of the templars would boil with temptation by the sight of all the young and pretty magi, when we were permitted to wear lighter or less longer robes. I bet, not all of them were of such a frigid attitude than the Chantry would like them to have. Just watch Cullen and how he looks at you, Saetta."

She had watched the red-haired templar from this day on and it both amused and embarrassed her how obvious his hidden feelings for her were.

"What do you think how naughty his dreams would be, if your robe would barely cover your thighs?"

Jowan had laughed and she had been only too apt to join him. It was funny, after all. She liked Cullen, because he had a tender and gentle mind and was never cruel or unjust. And, somewhere in the depths of her heart, she felt flattered, actually.

A warm but cool draft came stroked her cheeks and mussed her short blond hair, when Greagoir opened one of the three great windows, with blue and green stained glass between outlines made of silver-glistening lead. The air was fresh and smelled of water, heat and the sweet scent of green leaves and hundreds of flowers she would never see for herself.

Her gaze had wandered off from her letters to the place where Greagoir stood, but due to his broad shoulders she could only see a midnight-blue sky and some early stars. It was all she needed. She had not seen the sky like this in too many years, unspoiled by the dyed and sometimes crooked glass panels. The moonlight was just so pure and gentle, Saetta was enchanted by the silver-rays on the windowsill on which Greagoir leant.

"Do you want to take a look outside, apprentice Saetta?"

It was the second time, he would speak her name, since the day she had entered the tower. She had been six, afraid and too young to understand, why they had taken her away, and too old to scream and cry all the time like the two littler children, who had joined their group with other templars a fortnight after she had been taken from her home.

"Welcome home, my dear Saetta", Irving had said, smiling and gentle, and then Greagoir had called her by her name and talked to her like she was an adult and would understand what this all was about.

His invitation to join him looking at the lake strucked her as odd. He was looking at her, his lips almost curled in a smile, waiting for her answer. Her heart beated so fast, it reminded her of a small bird, encaptured in her chest.

"May I ask you, if this is some kind of test?", she asked cautiously. She did not wanted to play some stupid templar-games, she did not wanted to be his guinea pig to test apprentice's obedience. It was not entirely clear to her, what it would be, the Knight-Commander would like to test, but his question felt not quite right and as innocent as he might have intended it.

He chuckled, and the sound of his little and amused laughter made her feel even more uncomfortable. "It could be a test, either if you are apt to end your life at the stony shore around the tower, or if you have learned some forgotten spell which makes you levitate."

Saetta blushed. "I - I beg your pardon, Knight-Commander. It was foolish of me to ask", she managed to say.

"So, do you want to take a look?"


	5. Greagoir III

He had kissed her.

Saetta sat on her bed, deep night and sleeping colleagues around her. Her heart was pounding in her small chest and an odd and yet pleasant feeling warmed her red cheeks, her trembling hands, her light head, her prickling belly.

In Greagoir's office, her gaze had wandered through the open window out of the tower and she had seen and smelt and enjoyed the world that laid around her, even if the only thing she could do with it, was looking at it and be enchanted by it.

They had talked a little, mostly about her memories of her home and her present studies. To be honest, she had liked it in a way. She had never had before a conversation like this with a templar, and she had never imaged to have one with the Knight-Commander himself. Her former tremulousness had ceased when he offered her some diluted wine and some time after she had nearly finished her first cup, she sat down on the windowsill and enjoyed the talk and the fresh air of the summer-night.

"I - I havent finished my tasks yet", she said after some time had passed, but Greagoir just shook his head and asked her another question, this one about her choice of courses in the next term.

After the first cup of wine he handed her another one and she noticed, without complaining, that this one was not mixed with water. It made her head feel lightly and there was a prickling in her fingertips and toes that had not been there before. She enjoyed it, but yet she demanded herself to be cautious.

She wondered, if Greagoir would ask her about rumours and gossip that were spread around the apprentices, when the wine would show its outcome on her blushed cheeks and her girlish giggling, but he was not questioning her about such things. It was odd, she thought and then she felt guilty, because maybe it was unjust to think of the templars like this.

But yet, still …

"It is a test, after all, isn't it?", she asked after she had finished her second cup of wine, after the sweet taste on her lips had made her slightly bolder than before. He smiled and took the empty silver-cup from her.

"Talking is a good way to get to know my apprentices better", he said, not unfriendly. "I would make an awful Knight-Commander, if I had no interest in the young magi in my tower."

_My_ apprentices. _My_ tower. His choice of words made her feel uneasy, in a way.

"As for the wine, I don't offer it to every apprentice, who steps into my office."

For a curt moment Saetta was lost for words, and then she remembered that she had not thanked him for it. She made up for her mistake politely, but declined when he offered her a third cup of wine.

"I forgot about your elven-blood."

He smiled and she laughed a bit. Ah, she felt like a silly goose, chatting and drinking and giggling like a little girl. Her cheeks were slightly red all the time now, her fingers entwined in her lap. She was still a little bit nervous, but she felt comfortable enough not to show it constantly.

"The first Revered Mother, who had taught me in the Chantry, always told me that she could read the features of a person in order to state if his or her mind was made of darkness or light."

He approached her, until he stood right in front of her and she could smell the scent of his freshly laundered raiment, soap and a hint of sandal-wood. His hands, warm and unexpectedly soft, went to her lower jaw, embraced her face and forced her thus to look up to him.

"I wonder, what she would say about your face, Saetta."

The sound of his voice had changed, she noticed. Now it was as soft and gentle as his thumb, stroking the line of her jaw, along her cheek, the bridge of her nose, finally her lips. He would feel her breath, accelerated by his touch, and the heat of her skin and her lips. She felt embarrassed and betrayed by her own body, by the tingling in her chest and the dryness of her tongue.

Too much wine, she thought and she wanted to close her eyes, but before she could even hope to avoid his gaze, fixated on her mouth, his hand went into her short hair, he pulled her gently but willing to him.

And then he kissed her.

She had answered his kiss only a few seconds after he had started it. It had felt too good and he had held her too tight as though she could have hoped to end this embrace by her own will. Her fingers grasped the cloth of his raiment, she could feel the warmth of his body beneath the palm of her hand and it made her shiver with both delight and awe.

His lips on hers, the tip of his tongue on hers, even the tickling of his beard on her upper lip felt wonderful and filled her with a hunger, she had never sensed before. It was not her first kiss, but every kiss before was just toying in comparison to what he was doing with her.

_A templar should not be so good at this_, she thought and then she thought nothing at all.

Saetta shivered when Greagoir released her. His hand slided out of her hair and along her neck and she moaned softly and blushed again.

"I have to go", she whispered and he kissed her again, shorter and less fierce than their first time. She rejoiced nonetheless by the touch of his lips. She did not have to go and they both knew it, but he let her go.

The last look he gave her was easy to decipher. "Do not tell anybody", it said. She had never wanted to.

And who would believe her, anyway?


End file.
